


I Did Not Marry One of Those Dicks with Wings

by alivinghumangirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (Some) Smut, (but also plot!), (but the homophobe gets his comeuppance), (depending on your perspective), Amnesia, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Dean, Bottom Cas, Brief homophobia, Date Night, Dean Winchester Being an Idiot, Dean Winchester is Bad at Feelings, Established Relationship, Fluff, Humor, Hunting Husbands, Idjits in love, Implied Switching, Light Angst, M/M, Sharing a Bed, Sleepy Cuddles, Top Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:20:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27534394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alivinghumangirl/pseuds/alivinghumangirl
Summary: Dean wakes up with amnesia. What happened? Where is he? If this place is supposed to be a safe house then why is it stocked with lube but not weapons? And most of all, who the hell is the strange guy in the trench coat who keeps telling him they're married?Now with an extra dose of fluff, smut and feelings!
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 30
Kudos: 273





	1. This Isn’t the Kind of Weekend Getaway I’d Hoped For

**Author's Note:**

> This is set a couple of years ago in the series timeline. It's meant to be during a period when Sam, Dean and Cas are living in the bunker and not in the middle of any big overarching storylines, just doing classic monster of the week stuff.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which misunderstandings abound.

Dean jolted awake, head throbbing but mind clear. He looked around him, assessing the situation, ready to fight if need be. He was in a cabin, not the bunker or a motel. At first glance, it was a small, rather masculine space, all wood and functionality, but on closer inspection there were a few froufrou little touches here and there. It had those little frilly curtains for one thing, and a cosy knitted blanket on the back of the love seat- the green colour of the wool clashed rather badly with the orange-based plaid of the couch. On the rickety little Formica table in the kitchenette, there was a small vase with a big daisy in it. It all seemed rather homey in a slightly haphazard kind of way. _Huh._ Why was there a picture on the bedside table of him, arm around some guy he didn’t recognise? And why were they wearing tuxes? 

“You’re awake,” growled the guy from the picture, who was apparently there too. 

Okay, maybe Dean wasn’t as on the ball as he thought. He hadn’t even spotted this guy when he’d scanned the room for potential threats. The man was looming in a doorway only a couple of feet from the side of the bed, a small bathroom visible behind him. He had dark hair and soft face with a hard expression. He looked like a working stiff, dark dress pants, white shirt, blue tie and tan trench coat. Actually, he was pretty cute, in a tightly wound sort of way, like maybe it’d be fun if you were the one to unravel him. Dean shook his head sharply. Now was not the time to be thinking like that, not in the presence of a possible hostile. The guy walked over to him, getting way too close and towering over him in bed while Dean sat there dumbly, bedcovers clutched to his chest. 

“How are you feeling?” 

“Fine!” Dean barked as he leapt out of bed and tried to muscle the other guy out of the way, expecting him to fall back, out of politeness, or instinct at least. The guy in the trench coat stayed exactly where he was, as if he were completely entitled to be in Dean’s personal space, and wrapped steadying hands around his upper arms. 

“You need to get back in bed,” the guy told him in a gravelly voice. 

“Woah, I don’t think so buddy! I’m leaving-” 

“You can’t leave-” 

“You gonna keep me here?” Dean challenged. 

“Yes, if I have to...” the guy said, rolling his eyes. 

Despite the words, it wasn’t a threat. He just sounded fed up, like he couldn't believe he had to say this again. That eye roll really was too much provocation though. Dean shoved the guy, hard. Then threw himself at the other man while he was off balance, taking them both to the floor. The guy just lay beneath him, blinking slowly. Dean really needed to think ahead better because he had no idea what he should do with him now he had him pinned. Trench coat dude wasn’t even fighting back. Maybe he was dazed from hitting his head on the floor when they went down. Since continuing to pound an unknown guy- who wasn’t even defending himself- seemed wrong, Dean looked around for inspiration. There was a grey flannel dressing gown tossed across the foot of the bed, near where they’d landed, so he grabbed its belt. He wrapped the make shift rope around unresisting arms, folded between their chests, while the guy looked up at him with limpid blue eyes. He might not look concussed but he certainly seemed confused. 

“Now isn’t the time. As much as I enjoy it when you ‘role play’,” the man said, giving a little quirk of his fingers, which Dean thought was him attempting to do air quotes with bound hands. “You really should be resting.” 

“Role playing? We’re not role playing!” He looked down at the guy, horrified, and belatedly realised what he could feel pressed against his stomach. _“_ _Dude_ _,_ have you got a fucking hard on?! Not cool, seriously, not cool. Now is definitely not the time for _that_ _!”_

“That’s what I said, but I can hardly be blamed for the erection if you will climb on top of me and start wriggling around!” The infuriating man had the nerve to sound exasperated. 

“That is a gross mischaracterisation of the situation! I am not wriggling around,” he said, contradicting himself, as he moved like it was a compulsion. It was a small exploratory movement, like he was trying to calculate the proportions of that erection by how it felt against his stomach. He could feel the entire length of the man’s body against him, hot and hard, the trench coat and Dean’s own t-shirt and thin cotton pyjama pants weren't much of a barrier. Dean’s breath was coming out faster than the brief scuffle warranted. “I- I was subduing you.” 

“You can’t subdue me unless I let you,” the man stated, looking perplexed. 

“You let me? Why would you let me?” Dean demanded, equally confused. 

“It’s an act of trust,” he explained softly. 

“Trust, trust?! You shouldn’t trust me and why the hell would I trust you?” 

“I’m your husband, of course you can trust me!” 

“You’re my what now?” Dean yelped, jumping up and looking stunned, before pacing away. 

“I’m your husband,” he repeated. The possible kidnapper, the guy intent on holding him here against his will, looked unaccountably hurt. He was still lying on the floor, which made him seem small and harmless. Dean had to resist the urge to help him when he started to rise unsteadily, unable to brace himself properly on his bound hands. He took a step towards Dean once he’d found his feet. Dean made a noise and threw up one palm in a ‘stop’ gesture, the guy complied immediately. 

_"Dean_ _,"_ he said gruffly. It threw him for a second, when the guy said his name like that. He hadn’t even been sure that trench coat here knew his name, but there it was, coming out of his mouth, deep and dark, full of warning and promise. 

“What is it you want with me, _exactly_?” Dean glanced down at the guy’s crotch meaningfully, as if to say ‘I could feel what you wanted with me, you perv’. 

“Want with you, want with you?!” The lights in the room flickered. A shadow of wings too big to fit in the little cabin blinked in and out behind the man. The binding fell from his wrists with a sizzle. “I am you husband and I want you to get in bed when I tell you to!” he snapped in guttural voice. It sent shivers down Dean’s spine. He wasn’t sure if they were shivers of fear or something else, and he didn’t know if it was the voice or what was said that caused them. 

“Angel,” Dean spat when he had managed to shake off his reaction and realise what the wings meant. Perhaps he didn’t remember this one specifically, but he knew angels in general and he sure as hell knew he didn’t like them. “What does one of you winged bastards want with me?” 

The angel huffed out a sigh and deflated. The shadow wings were gone now and he just looked like a tired human. 

“What I want is for you to get in bed.” 

“Oh yeah, I bet!” 

_“_ _Dean_ _,"_ he angel admonished quietly. 

“Ok, so you know my name. Wanna tell me yours?” he asked the guy watching him with wounded eyes. 

“I’m Castiel, but you call me Cas.”

“Well, Castiel, excuse me if I don’t take your word for this whole thing.” He waved a hand between them, in obvious dismissal of their relationship. 

“Fine. Tell me you at least remember Sam.” 

“Of course I remember Sam! Why wouldn’t I?” 

“Well you don’t remember me,” Cas said in a small voice. “I’ll call Sam, maybe he can convince you that you’re here for your own good.” He stormed off to the other side of the cabin, which wasn’t really far enough to get a good storm going. He yanked open a drawer in the kitchenette, which was apparently where he’d been keeping a cell, and then slammed the drawer shut for good measure. He mashed his finger to the power button and scowled while he waited for Face ID to unlock the phone. Dean thought it was a wonder that facial recognition could work at all while he was pulling that face, but perhaps he always frowned like that. Cas jabbed at the touchscreen a few times, then handed him the phone. Dean stared at the screen that promised it was calling Sam until the ringing fell silent. He was debating whether it had been Sam’s real number the angel had dialled when screen went black. Raising an expectant eyebrow, Dean held the phone out for Castiel to wake it up again. 

“It’s keyed to your face too,” Cas told him. 

Apparently, this was the kind of ‘marriage’ where your other half had access to your phone. Dean couldn’t decide if that was cute or co-dependent. Or maybe just practical if you needed to make an emergency call and your emergencies weren’t the kind you dialled 911 for. Instead of clicking on ‘Sam’ in the phonebook, he entered his number from memory. It still rang through without an answer. He tried a couple of Sam’s backup numbers, just in case, but got nothing. 

“No answer, well, ain’t that convenient?” 

“No, it’s very inconvenient,” Cas replied flatly. 

“Sarcasm, ever heard of it?!” 

“I know what sarcasm is, Dean!” He did know dammit. It was just that he had tendency to forget in stressful situations. He couldn’t read human social cues when he was barely holding himself together. It was heart-breaking seeing his husband look at him like he was a stranger, a particularly untrustworthy stranger. 

“Please, can we just sit down and talk about this?” Cas asked plaintively. 

He sat down on the little loveseat and looked invitingly at Dean. No way was he going to sit there next to him, so close he’d practically be in his lap. Dean turned one of the chairs in the kitchen around and sat there instead. The angel put the cell down on the little wooden coffee table in front of him. Dean wondered if he should make a grab for it. Cas saw him looking and said “We can call Sam again after we've talked.” 

Dean sat mulling things over while the angel watched him patiently. Cas had told him he was his husband again. He was very adamant about that. Ignoring that for the moment, he was apparently someone who worked with him and Sam. The three of them had been chasing a couple of real nasty witches who’d been leaving a trail of dead behind them wherever they went. They had them pinned down and managed to gank the guy but the female witch, the guy’s wife apparently, was able to get away. She was injured but, unfortunately, she’d still managed to hit Dean with a spell. Sure, it sounded a little preposterous, but a lot of Dean’s life was preposterous. So much so that the witch and the spell actually didn’t seem at all farfetched, the part he was having problems with was the part where he was married to an angel he couldn’t remember. 

“Amnesia though?” Dean said doubtfully. “What are we living in a freaking Mills and Boon novel? Are you going to tell me that we’re in a love triangle with a billionaire next?!” 

“‘I don’t understand that reference.’” 

“Whatever. Not important. How about you explain how I can I have amnesia when I remember literally everything else but you?” 

“It's _selective_ amnesia,” Cas qualified, looking increasingly agitated. 

“And it’s selected you? Sorta weird, how you’re the one thing I don’t remember... suspicious even...” 

“Not weird, Dean, _deliberate_. This was what the witch intended. She was angry that you killed her husband. She was weakened, she couldn’t manage to kill you, and she certainly couldn’t manage to kill me, but she could take your husband away too. So that’s what she did. She made you forget me,” Cas told him bitterly. 

“I’m not buying it. I don’t know you,” Dean insisted, glaring at the unhappy angel. Castiel was looking back at him intently, like he could make him remember with the power of his damn laser beam stare. Which actually... 

“OK, answer me this, if you’re my loving, angel boyfriend-” 

“Husband,” Cas corrected. 

Dean continued, annoyed, “If you’re my loving, angel _husband_ _,_ why haven’t you used your special angel powers and zapped me back to health?” 

Cas sighed deeply. “I have ‘zapped’ you.” 

“Really?” Dean spat sceptically. “Because I don’t think it took!” 

“It’s the nature of the spell. A spell like this, it’s complicated. It’s best to go the slow, gentle route. I’ve set the healing in motion. The root problem is fixed but your brain needs to take its own time to remember things. It’s a process. It might take a few days. I know it’s frustrating and I don’t like it eith-” 

“Okay, you don’t like it. Then why don’t you up the damn voltage and heal me quick?” 

“That would be incredibly painful for you. I would never hurt you just to ease my own discomfort. I’m not going to ignore what’s best for you just so I can get my husband back sooner.” Cas looked sickened by the thought. “We can be uncomfortable together for a few days. Patience is a virtue.” 

“I’m stuck with a preachy angel. Awesome,” Dean muttered to himself. 

Dean leant against the railing of the wooden porch shivering slightly. He was insufficiently dressed for the crisp morning air but he didn’t want to go back inside. The angel would be there, looking at him like he’d personally cancelled Christmas, kicked his puppy and stolen his candy. He glared at the phone in his hand. Sam still wasn’t answering. He’d convinced Castiel to let him out of his sight for five damn minutes so he could speak to Sam alone but his stupid brother wasn’t cooperating. He tucked the cell into the flimsy pocket of his pyjama pants and looked out across the vista before him. It was nice actually. The kind of place where Dean could imagine taking a quiet weekend away, as long as he’d double checked the surrounding woods for wendigos first. The cabin sat in a little clearing in the forest. He could see a small lake through the trees, the water looked clear and calm. There was slightly muddy ground out front and a patch of tall grass with wildflowers. And, off to the side, there was Baby, sitting at the end of a dirt track. The track presumably led around the back of the cabin to join a road somewhere, so there was an escape route if need be. Dean glanced back at the cabin, he didn’t see the angel watching to him, so he strode over to the Impala and tried the door. Unlocked, and when he pulled down the sun visor, the keys fell out. He pocketed them, just in case. He looked back at the window, still empty, so he took a quick gander under the hood, everything seemed to be in working order. He sat down in the front seat of the Impala and tried Sam again. 

“Dean, are you ok?” 

Dean rested his forehead on the steering wheel and let out a sigh before replying, “Finally, Sam!” 

“Been a little busy. What’s up?” 

“What’s up, Sammy, what’s up? I’m stuck in the middle of nowhere with a sketchy angel who keeps telling me we’re married!” Dean blurted with a rising edge of panic. 

“Did you just call Cas a sketchy angel? 

“So you do know him?” 

“Of course I know him- he's your husband! Wait, you don’t know him?” asked Sam, flummoxed. 

“Never seen the guy before in my life, Sammy!” 

“Dean, he’s your husband, you’re confused, you got hit by a spell-” 

“Yeah, yeah, he told me about the witch and the amnesia or whatever. But, c’mon Sam, are you seriously telling me I married a dude and that dude’s an angel?! I mean, the former sure. Maybe I’m a little surprised; just percentage-wise, with relationships, wouldn’t have figured I’d settle down with a guy.” While Dean had fucked plenty of men, maybe even more than he’d fucked women, he’d never had a relationship with one that went past a couple of casual hook-ups. It wasn’t like he’d had a lot of actual relationships with women either. It was just that if he were to settle down- which had always seemed an impossibility in itself- he’d always assumed it would be with a woman. “But whatever. An angel, though? I call bullshit. I know I did not marry one of those dicks with wings willingly!” 

“I was there. I promise you, you were totally willing,” Sam assured him with a smile in his voice. “Honestly, it was kind of cute how excited you were to get married.” 

“And that doesn’t seem weird to you? Like I was a little too enthusiastic? Not myself maybe? I ain’t the marrying kind. It’s not me.” He exhaled forcefully and rubbed the back of his neck. “Sam... there’s a picture here of us, me and that guy. And my expression in that photo, I swear I’ve never worn that dopey ass smile a day in my life!” 

“You’re smiling because you're happy, Dean. Is that so hard to believe?” 

“Yes!” he snarled. 

“So, what are you saying?” Sam asked slowly. Dean could hear his patience fraying and that only made him more frustrated. 

“I’m saying, are we sure this isn’t some Becky Rosen kind of deal?” 

“You think Cas gave you a love potion?” Sam sputtered. “Are you serious? If he’d put some love mojo on you, don’t you think you’d actually love him? And, I don’t know, maybe know who he is?!” 

“Maybe...” 

“He’s not some stalker, okay? I get that you can’t wrap your head round Cas being your husband right now. You don’t trust him, I hear you, alright. So how about you look at it this way: Cas is a friend of mine and _I_ trust him to have your back while you’re recovering from that spell.” 

“Fine,” Dean said, in a tone that suggested otherwise. 

“Look, if you’re uncomfortable, you don’t have to act like his husband. No renewing your vows or screwing him till you remember, okay? Just be civil. Cas won’t push you for anything.” 

Maybe a small part of him wanted Cas to push him, maybe not such a small part. _No!_ He shoved that thought to the back of his mind. 

“Fine...” 

He hung up. Then he just sat there for a long time before going back inside. He wasn’t going to make an escape in fucking PJs and slippers. The damn sheep skin mules were the only shoes next to the door, they fit fine but shoes with no back weren’t really suited to running. Besides, Sam had told him to stay put. He might not trust this Castiel guy but he trusted his brother. 

The angel was sitting in the exact same place on the loveseat. They stared at each other for a bit, Cas mournfully and Dean just at a loss for what else to do. 

“I’m sorry,” Cas said sadly. “If I had realised the spell would mess with your head like this- if I’d have known what it actually did- I would have left you with Sam and gone to hunt the witch myself. I never meant to cause you distress.” 

“Right, okay, yeah,” Dean said, accepting the apology ungraciously. 

The angel went quiet again and the awkward silence stretched until it became oppressive. 

“What is this place anyway?” Dean asked, more to break the silence than because he really cared. 

“It’s our hunting cabin.” 

“Hunting cabin?” 

“You call it that because it’s where we go when we’re not hunting. It’s ironic,” Cas explained. 

_Heh_ _,_ that was kinda funny, but “Hey, I’m not the one that needs irony explained to me, buddy!” 

“Sorry,” Cas said, looking a little abashed. “I wasn’t sure if you’d know. We got this place after we married as somewhere for us to come alone. I thought maybe the spell wouldn’t let you remember things like this, things linked to our life together.” 

He didn’t remember the cabin but maybe the place looked sort of familiar. He still didn’t know where anything was though. 

“If I'm stuck here, can I at least have some real pants?” he asked and tried not to wince when it came out sounding like whining. 

“I’m not withholding your pants, Dean. You could have put on pants at any time.” 

“Well, where are they?” Dean snapped, he’d been trying not to whine this time but he’d overcorrected and his tone veered towards aggressive. 

“Your duffle’s under the bed,” Cas told him, sounding perfectly reasonable in a way that rubbed Dean wrong, because how was he supposed to know where he kept his damn duffle if he had amnesia! 

He could feel the angel’s eyes on his back as he stomped over to the bed and pulled the duffle out from under it. Dumping it on the mattress, he riffled through it until he had a pair of jeans and an olive-green shirt. He went to change in the bathroom because the angel was still staring at him. Dean felt a little less vulnerable when he emerged properly dressed. Wearing pyjamas in front of a stranger felt far too intimate, even if they covered just as much as jeans. Right, real pants accomplished, now what was he supposed to do? He looked around the cabin but there just didn’t seem to be much in the way of entertainment. There was small bookshelf against the wall opposite the couch. It was piled with books, a mix of novels and occult texts, but Dean didn’t think he could focus on reading right now. He felt restless and edgy. 

“You should eat,” Cas said suddenly, in the middle of more staring. “I could make you lunch.” 

“I’m not hungry,” Dean said, and he did not sound like a teenager sulking over being grounded, dammit, he did not! “But thanks,” he managed to force out, trying to sound less petulant. 

“We’ve got pie.” 

“Pie?” 

“Of course. I will always have pie for you, Dean,” Cas said solemnly. “It was in our wedding vows.” 

“You... what... You promised me pie- in our vows? That must have been some weird ass wedding!” 

“It was beautiful,” Cas said, looking offended. 

“Maybe I am a little peckish,” Dean admitted, in a conciliatory tone. “Thanks.” 

Cas went off and bustled around the kitchen, getting pie from the fridge, finding a plate to serve up a slice, putting coffee in an old percolator, and he didn’t stare at Dean the whole time he did it. Dean sat down at the small table and watched the angel for a change. Perhaps he should find him more homemaking stuff to do because this was almost comfortable. 

The pie felt like a peace offering when Cas slid it in front of him. Which, even in his grumpy state, Dean recognised was a little unfair. It was probably him that should be making the peace offerings. After all, he was the one who had attacked the guy and accused him of being a liar with dubious motives for keeping him here. Cas hadn’t done anything except claim to be his husband and try to get him to rest. Well, that and stare a lot. Dean felt there was an unnecessary amount of staring. Still, perhaps he should try to be a bit nicer, a bit less suspicious. 

A little while, and a lot of awkward staring, later, Castiel told Dean he was going into town to grab some supplies for dinner. Dean’s promise to himself to be less suspicious lasted until the sound of Baby’s engine rumbling faded into the distance. Dean was not going to let himself be lulled into a false sense of security just because someone gave him pie! He needed to check the place out. Search for clues, weapons, whatever. He spent half an hour turning the cabin over and came up with squat, unless you counted a couple of blunt kitchen knives. Even the drawer in the bedside table- where he _always_ kept a gun, a knife and flask of holy water anywhere he slept- just had a bottle of lube. Why the hell was there lube but no weapons? 

Dean was sitting on the loveseat, with the lube on the coffee table in front of him, when Cas got back. Three bottles of it, because he’d found another two on his second pass of the cabin. He raised an interrogatory eyebrow at the angel. 

“Wanna tell me why this place has no weapons but an orgy’s worth of lube?” 

“It’s hardly an orgy’s worth,” Cas said, tilting his head. 

“Seriously? That’s not an answer! Why am I in a secluded cabin, with an angel I don’t know, who brought a shit ton of lube with him? I thought I was supposed to be here ‘recovering’?” 

Cas frowned at Dean like he was the one who was being the unreasonable. 

“The last time I didn’t bring lube when you were recovering, you told me very firmly that you were an adult and if you still wanted to fuck with a broken arm, then it was up to you.” 

Dean had to admit that kind of sounded like him. Still, “Pretty presumptuous to bring this amount of lube if you ask me!” 

“But I didn’t even bring it this time. It was already here after last time. We always have lube, Dean.” 

“So, you’ll always have lube for me, huh? What was that in the freaking wedding vows too?!” 

“No, it wasn’t in the vows; it’s more of an informal undertaking,” Cas said, perfectly seriously. He seemed to be back to not being able to detect sarcasm. “You are a passionate man, Dean. I have just made a habit of being prepared.” 

“And the weapons?” Dean forged on. “Or is this holy lube? I just squirt it in a demon’s eye and it burns ‘em?” 

Cas looked like the conversation was giving him a headache, even though Dean was pretty sure angels didn’t get those. 

“There are weapons. There’s a whole arsenal in trunk of the Impala-” 

“But you took the car!” 

“There’s still all the weapons in the compartment above the headboard.” 

“Well, I didn’t know about those!” Dean retorted, caught between anger and sheepishness. 

“I’m sorry. It's hard for me to remember you might not know these things,” Cas told him, managing to look as resentful as he was apologetic. 

Cas showed him how to open the hidden compartment, which was set into a hollow in the wall behind the bed. There was holy oil and an angel blade in there, which was what finally made Dean shut his damn mouth, because this guy must be on the level if he was willing to show Dean things that could actually trap and harm him. 

Dean made another promise to himself to be nicer... it didn’t last very long this time around either. 

Dean picked up a book, just for something to do. He read about spells for a several hours while the angel just sat quietly at the kitchen table. He nearly jumped out of his skin when Cas declared abruptly, “You should have dinner.” 

Dean made a noise that might be an affirmative. That was how Cas took it anyway. He started moving around the kitchen in a flurry of angelic action. Dean watched while his back was turned. He was curious- what did angels eat? _Did_ angels eat? If the answer to the latter was yes, then answer to the former seemed to be hamburgers, unless the hamburgers were just for Dean. It felt surreal, seeing an angel patiently making patties from ground beef, mashing potatoes and chopping lettuce and tomatoes. There was even bacon sizzling in a pan, spreading its delicious smell through the cabin. The whole scene was charmingly domestic and it made Dean twitchy. He was getting that feeling again, that suspicion that he was being lulled into complacency by someone serving him his favourite food. 

Castiel watched him as he picked at his food warily. He was pretty sure that Dean didn’t actually believe that he was trying to poison him, but he wasn’t certain. He took a big bite of his own bacon cheese burger to set an example, like a parent demonstrating that the food was actually edible to a recalcitrant 4-year-old who didn't want to eat his vegetables. Cas had hoped that good food might placate Dean, it usually worked after all... well, food or sex worked but he didn’t think the latter would help right now. He tried to make conversation but only got grunts and monosyllabic answers in return. Great, Dean had gone from 4-year-old to teenager. He wondered if that counted as progress. It didn’t feel like it. Cas put his burger down. 

“Look, I know you’re not happy here but it’s getting late, let's just stay tonight. If you still want to, we can go back to the bunker in the morning. Maybe you’ll feel more comfortable there.”

Dean glared at the bed over Cas’s shoulder, looking like he’d just been struck by something. 

“Yeah, of course, let’s spend the night in the love shack. Why the hell is there only one bed here any-” the sentence cut off abruptly, like Dean could hear his own unnecessarily snide tone and had actually made an effort to swallow the hostility. Not much of an effort, since that hostility seemed to be escaping through his eyeballs instead and burning a hole in Castiel. 

“Of course, there's only one bed. We’re married,” Cas told him yet again. He was so sick of having to say that. 

“Of course, there's only one bed,” Dean jeered back at him childishly. 

Cas blew out a breath that sounded like it contained more air than a set of human lungs could hold. He ruthlessly suppressed the urge to call his husband an assbutt. For goodness sake, he was an Angel of the Lord, he was not going to lower himself to name calling. He loved Dean but right now he was so sick of this man who seemed bent on antagonising him. Cas pushed his almost full plate away and rose from the table. 

“Well, I am going to go to bed. If you wish, you may join me when you’re ready or, if you’re going to continue on like this, you can sleep on the couch for all I care.” 

Cas stripped to his boxers while Dean pointedly looked elsewhere. He was pretty sure that Dean snuck a few glances, though, despite himself. Hopefully, he didn’t remember that angels didn't sleep. Goodness knows how much more distrustful Dean would be if he realised how unnecessary it was for Cas to hog the only bed. He wouldn’t know though. The spell wouldn’t have affected his knowledge of angel lore in general, but the sleeping habits of other angels weren’t something he’d have cause to know, it was something he’d only know about Cas specifically. Since his knowledge of Castiel was currently buried in neurons with synapses that weren’t firing, well, what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. Besides, while it was true that Cas didn’t strictly _need_ to sleep, he had gotten into the habit of it. Mostly because he liked to curl up next to Dean. He would miss Dean when he was awake and Dean was sleeping, so he’d started joining him in bed for more than sex. It was peaceful. Sleep broke up the days so his life wasn’t just one long forever. He normally only slept when Dean slept, which was certainly more than an angel needed but still less than a human did. He always tried to keep Dean in bed longer, long enough for him to get a proper rest. Right now, though, he was going to sleep alone because it turned out sleep was also a useful way to take a break from arguing with your husband. 

Dean finished his burger, since it was delicious and probably not poisoned. He glared at the angel who was sleeping peacefully in the only bed. Did angels even need to sleep? Who cared? He could sleep on the loveseat. He’d slept on worse. 

The loveseat turned out to be damn uncomfortable and the cosy looking blanket was scratchy. He couldn’t pretzel his limbs up tight enough to be able to lie down properly, so he draped himself over both ends of the couch awkwardly for an hour before giving up. _Screw it_ _._ One side of the bed was still free. He stripped to his own boxers and got under the wonderfully un-scratchy quilt. 

Dean woke in the middle of the night wrapped around the angel. Apparently, his body remembered something he didn’t. Whatever. He rolled over and went back to sleep. 

The next morning, Cas was sprawled across Dean when he woke, arm slung across his chest and morning wood pressed against his thigh. 

“Well good morning to you too, sweetheart,” Dean said, smirking. 

“I- I’m sorry-” Cas shifted, as if to roll away but Dean stilled him with a squeeze of his shoulder. 

“Nothing to be sorry for. This is how I like to wake up, with a big, hot, hard dick pressed against me.” He winked lasciviously. 

_“A_ dick-” Dean's lips cut off the sentence, but Cas wanted to ask if it was just any dick Dean liked waking up with, or if it was actually _his_ dick Dean wanted pressed against him. 

Cas broke the kiss and looked down at him curiously, cautiously. The morning sunshine had limned his head with a golden glow and the sight made Dean’s breath catch in his throat. 

“You are so beautiful,” he told the angel and pulled his head back down. 

Dean kissed him until his already plush lips were swollen, then he rolled Cas over and moved on to trailing kisses down his neck and chest. Dean looked up from tonguing a nipple to say, “I want to be inside you.” 

“Yes,” Cas murmured, a little surprised. 

It wasn’t that Dean didn’t top- he would enthusiastically take either part when they fucked- it was just that Dean _really_ liked Castiel fucking him, so it was usually only Dean doing the fucking if Cas was the one to suggest it. Dean was always happy to oblige but he rarely instigated it. While Cas was puzzling this through, Dean grabbed the lube that was back in the bedside table. Cas opened his mouth to say something, but Dean’s hands on him were distracting and then Dean’s fingers were in him and he couldn’t think at all. 

“On your knees,” Dean commanded. 

Cas obeyed immediately, instinctively, because he never denied Dean anything, even if he was acting a little strangely. When they did this, it was normally face to face so Dean could look Cas in the eye. The angel couldn’t form sentences, he could barely form words, when Dean was inside him. So, Dean always watched him. He watched to make sure he knew if Cas needed more time to adjust when he entered him. He watched so he could see Cas’s reaction to a gentler pace or a harder thrust. He watched to see if Cas was close or if he needed to hold off on his own pleasure until he got Cas there too. He watched so he could bask in the euphoria of Cas’s expression when he hit just the right spot. Whatever else he was in bed, he was always, _always_ _,_ mindful of Castiel’s pleasure. And he watched him with love in his eyes. 

Dean ran a hand down Cas’s spine and made an appreciative noise when he rocked back impatiently, so maybe he was watching him after all. He was gentle when he entered him. Cas felt full, all the way down to the very core of his being. Dean paused, luxuriating in the feeling of connection while giving Cas a moment to adjust. When he moved, he set just the right pace, and hit that angle that made Cas moan and let go of his worries. He had been overthinking things. They’d been together for years now, Dean didn’t need to carefully study his reactions anymore to know how to please him. It wasn’t long before he was clawing at the sheets mewling.

“Wildcat,” Dean whispered in his ear before biting down on the lobe. 

Cas was so close and Dean just held him there, on the edge or pleasure, refusing to nudge him over. He was fucking him a little too gently. He wasn’t touching him except for where they were joined and a hand on Castiel’s hip. The hand kept Cas still when he tried to thrust back against Dean harder. It took Cas a while to realise what Dean wanted. 

“Please,” he begged, _“_ _Please_ _."_

Dean chuckled, low and smug. He didn’t gloat though, just gave Cas what he needed. He picked up the pace of his thrusts and wrapped a firm hand around Castiel’s aching cock and stroked. The pleasure that had been building was a swell of sensation that kept cresting higher, it had built and built all through Dean’s slow teasing and when it finally broke, it felt like a tidal wave, drowning Cas in bliss. He slumped on the bed, feeling boneless, only dimly aware of the wet heat that signalled Dean’s own orgasm following his. Dean groaned and collapsed over him heavily. 

Dean had pulled out and shifted his weight mostly off Cas but they lay together in a sweaty heap for several minutes while they caught their breath. Cas felt warm and safe, enveloped in a happy little post sex bubble. He snuggled closer to Dean and that bubble burst abruptly when his husband got up and said flippantly, “Thanks for the ride, angel,” and lightly smacked Cas’s ass. _What? What the hell?_ That didn’t sound like the husband he knew... but it did sound rather like the young man he’d first met years ago. The man Dean might still be if Cas hadn’t been in his life. _Fuck!_ The bathroom door slammed behind Dean and Cas felt the thud reverberate through him. 

What an idiot Cas was, thinking he’d gotten his husband back just because Dean hadn’t pushed him away when they’d woken up twined together. That wasn’t his husband, that was just good old fashioned horny Dean. Always ready and willing to have a quick roll in the hay if he had an enthusiastic partner, and Cas had been enthusiastic, not Dean’s fault he’d thought it meant something else. Well, somewhat Dean’s fault for not saying anything, because of course if you sleep with someone who’s told you they’re your husband, that person is going to think it means something. But Dean probably hadn’t considered that, given he hadn’t been thinking with his upstairs brain. 

Cas lay there, feeling raw and dirty, not good dirty, but the cheap & used kind of dirty. He listened to the sound of water in the next room. Dean was hogging the shower and it didn’t seem like he was invited, so he cleaned himself in the blink of an eye with his angelic powers. That way he only felt grimy on the inside. 

Dean emerged from the bathroom in a cheerful cloud of steam. 

“You want eggs? I think I’m going to make eggs,” he said, striding toward the kitchen without waiting for an answer. 

Since his input into breakfast didn’t seem necessary, Castiel shuffled silently into the bathroom. Dean had given Cas back his phone when he found his own in his duffle yesterday, so he took it with him into the small room. He turned the shower on so he wouldn’t be overheard and rang Sam. 

“Sam, I need you to come. As soon as you can. I’ll hunt the witch. You need to look after Dean. I can’t-” He didn’t know how to finish that sentence, so he just hung up. Sam would come. He just hoped he would hurry. Cas had to get out of here soon or he was going to smite his own damn husband. 

He could hear Dean humming in the kitchen. Apparently, sex was fine as long as it was Cas who was tricked into it, not Dean. No, that wasn’t fair, he hadn’t tricked him. Cas had just assumed that renewed affection was equated with restored memories. He leant against the sink, taking deep breaths and trying to regain his composure. _Castiel Winchester, you will not cry,_ he silently told his reflection. He’d get Dean back, he knew that, but the waiting was awful. Perhaps it was undignified for a being who was millennia old to hide from his own husband, but he stayed in the bathroom for another fifteen minutes pretending to clean up. Dean wouldn’t know the shower wasn’t necessary, so he stepped under the overly hot spray and stood there until it ran cold. 

Dean’s pocket vibrated. He hit answer, then held the cell between his ear and shoulder so he could keep scrambling eggs. 

“Yup?” 

“Dammit Dean, why did Cas just call me practically in tears and tell me I had to come out there and take over Dean duty? What did you do?” Sam asked irritably. 

“I might have had sex with him... but c’mon, it’s just sex. Two consenting adults scratching an itch. No big deal. I can’t believe he tattled on me. Jeez, I wouldn’t have fucked him if I’d known he was going to be such a girl about it.” Dean rolled his eyes and continued to scramble the eggs. 

“Why are you determined to be such an asshole?” Sam huffed a sigh down the line and Dean could imagine him on the other end, rubbing his forehead and wearing his long-suffering martyr expression. 

“I’m not,” he said defensively. “Why are you on his side anyway? You’re my brother!” 

“Yeah, no, you don’t get to play the brother card here, dude. You married Cas so, by law, he’s my brother too. Anyway, I’m not taking sides, Dean, but you’re the one being a dick here. Cas is just trying to look after you.” 

“I don’t need to be looked after! And I don’t need some weirdo angel making calf eyes at me and acting all hurt because I’m not making them back! We had sex, that’s all!” 

“You had sex with your _husband_ and then acted like it was a one-night stand. Tell me you can see why that might upset him?” 

And, yeah, when Sam put it like that, Dean could see why he was the dick here. He sighed and stirred the eggs which were starting to smoke from neglect. 

“If you want my opinion,” Sam started saying, Dean emphatically did not want his opinion, but his brother continued nonetheless, “I think you’re having a meltdown because you’re married. If I asked you to stay with someone you didn’t know, but that I’d told you I trusted, that wouldn’t phase you. You’d do it no questions asked. But that guy tells you you’re married and you start having some freak-out about commitment.” 

“I am not having a freak-out,” he said tightly. 

“Mmm hmm,” Sam murmured in a sceptical tone that made Dean want to punch him through the phone. “Look, I don’t have time to play referee between you and your husband right now. Can you just hang tight for a few days? I’m on the witch’s trail. I’m close but if I pull back now, we might lose her.” 

“Okay.” 

“And Dean?” 

“Yeah? 

“Apologise to Cas,” Sam ordered. “Do it now and make it good because when you remember who he is- you’re gonna feel like shit for treating him this way.” 

Frozen in thought, Dean stood in front of the stove until the eggs started smoking again. He switched off the heat when he heard the bathroom door open. 

“Come get your eggs!” he yelled over his shoulder with forced brightness. 

Castiel sat down woodenly at the table. Dean shovelled a mountain of slightly singed scrambled eggs onto plate in front of him while he tried to figure out what to say. 

In the end he just blurted out, “Sam called.” 

“He wasn’t supposed to call. He was just supposed to come,” Cas said softly, not meeting his eyes. 

“He said he was too close to the witch to come now. He... uh... also had some choice words for me. He pointed out that I may have been a dick-” 

The angel snorted sardonically. 

“Cas, listen, I’m sorry. This morning, it was thoughtless, I shouldn’t have... Not just this morning, yesterday too. I’ve been making things difficult for you this whole time and you haven’t done anything to deserve it. Earlier... did I... did you...” 

“I thought you were _you_ again,” he said in a very quiet voice. 

Cas was hunched down at the table, folded into himself, like he wanted to get as small as he could and disappear. Dean had done this, to this freaking force of nature, this angel, he’d made him small and sad. This was so wrong. Dean felt suddenly sure he was meant to be the one protecting him, not hurting him. The strength of that feeling scared him, so he shrugged it off. This was just a guy, a friend of Sam’s, and he should behave better because that was the decent thing to do. That was all. 

“It wasn’t my intention to mislead you,” Dean said carefully. “I hope I didn’t do something you didn’t want...” It wasn’t quite a question, because he was too afraid to actually ask it. 

“No,” Cas said firmly, meeting his eyes for a heartbeat. “It’s not your fault. We’re both responsible. You should have said something, but so should I. It was just nice not to have you pushing me away...” 

“I’m really sorry. Can we just start over? I’ll try to do better and be less of a suspicious asshole. I don’t want us to be at odds. You seem like a nice guy, and hey, you’re dynamite in the sack!” Dean finished jokingly, trying to break the tension. 

Castiel laughed a touch hysterically. _Dynamite in the sack._ Huge praise from the love of his very long life. Was that all he was to him? Cas felt adrift. It was like he didn’t know himself if Dean didn’t know him. He’d existed for eons, yet somehow, who he was, who he really was, was the person he’d become over the few short years he’d been with Dean. 

“Sure, let’s start over,” he agreed, because Dean was looking at him hopefully. 

Cas finished the eggs, even though they were cold and rubbery, because the food felt like a peace offering from Dean this time. He appreciated the effort, but the eggs felt like they were sitting in a hard lump low in his belly and somehow, simultaneously, like they were obstructing his throat so he couldn’t take a full breath. Dean kept flashing him concerned looks across the table. Repentant Dean might actually be worse than remorseless Dean. There was something so impersonal about his regret. It felt like he was the kind of sorry you were when you broke a co-worker's coffee mug, rather than the kind of sorry you were when you broke your husband’s heart. This awkward solicitude was cutting deeper than the earlier disdain. He had to get out of there. 

“I think I’m going to go for a walk,” Cas said and blinked out with a rustle of feathers and a gust of wind. 

Dean doubted he was really going for a walk since he hadn’t exactly strolled out the front door. He probably just wanted to avoid Dean, which made him feel like a jerk. He realised this was the first time he’d seen Castiel use his powers since that display of wings when he’d lost his temper. Perhaps, after his reaction to the shadow wings, Cas had been trying to put him at ease by acting more human. So now, he was either sick of making an effort for an ungrateful asshole, or too upset to remember to tamp down his angelic nature, which made Dean feel like an even bigger jerk. 

Dean was sitting on the end of the bed with his head in his hands when Castiel returned. He rushed over to his husband, panicked. Was he hurt? Had the spell had unforeseen side effects? 

“Dean! Dean, are you alright?” he cried, grabbing his shoulders. 

“I’m sorry, Cas, I remember, I’m so sorry-” His voice cracked on the last word and he gulped convulsively. 

Cas dropped on the bed next to him and wrapped a shaking Dean in his arms. And if there were tears, his husband didn’t mention them, just sat there stroking his hair and whispering comforting words to him until he’d regained his equilibrium. 

“I’m so sorry, angel,” Dean said huskily and ‘angel’ sounded like an endearment now rather than a slightly mocking epithet. “I just wish you’d just healed me quick. I’d rather be hurt than hurt you, you must know that?” 

“Of course I know that,” Cas said fiercely, taking Dean’s face in his hands and forcing him to meet his eyes, to see the sincerity there. “But I feel the same way; you can’t ask me to harm you if I can avoid it.” 

“I’m just... I’m so sorry I hurt you.” Dean felt devastated and vulnerable, so naturally he tried to make a joke of it. “Can I kiss it better?” 

“That might not be enough. I’m very hurt. You might need to fuck it better,” Cas told him dryly. 

Dean laughed, relief and joy bubbling out of him. Then he fucked it better, and this time it was face to face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave kudos if you liked it because I crave your validation the way Dean craves his father's approval! If you want to leave a comment as well, I'd love to hear from you :)
> 
> Both Dean and I feel bad for how he treated Cas, so read on for how Dean tries to make it up to him.


	2. Hey, My Husband Is a Multidimensional Wavelength of Celestial Intent, You Watch It!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which an apologetic Dean takes Cas for a nice day out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is sort of a stand alone story but since Dean's emotions and motivations are closely tied to what happened in the previous story, I decided to post it as a second chapter rather than separately.

Dean was lucky he was married to an angel because no mere mortal would be able to tolerate his bullcrap. Cas had been forced to put up with more than normal lately. The amnesia incident, aka the most recent time Dean had been a total dick, had only been a few weeks ago and Dean was still mired in guilt. It wasn’t entirely his fault. You’re not technically responsible for the things you did under the influence of an evil witch’s spell, right? The problem was that even if someone had taken a few scoops out of his melon, well, it was still his melon. He might not have had all his memories but he still had his asshole personality. So yeah, the shitty behaviour, that was all him, only the circumstances were the witch’s fault. 

Even though Cas assured him that everything was fine, Dean still wanted to find a way to make it up to him. It was just that he wasn’t great at apologies. As far as past relationships went, if he fucked up, he’d just try to buy forgiveness with a gift. He really didn’t think some gas station flowers were going to cut it this time. Flowers had never seemed like the best apology anyway. Here, have some dying plants and be reminded of the terrible thing I did while you watch them wither. Better to get something meaningful. But what did you get an angel who wanted for nothing? Cas wasn’t materialistic. He didn’t care about possessions unless they had sentimental value, like his trench coat. Dean didn’t think he would ever give up that particular worldly good. He did like to give his husband material things sometimes. The fact that they came from Dean tended to give the items automatic sentimental value as far as Cas was concerned. Mostly though, if he wanted to give Cas a gift, he gave him an experience. That was what Cas cherished most. Dean had been trying to think of something special to do for Cas since he got his memories back. 

The kind of experiences that Cas enjoyed tended to vary wildly. He liked doing new things and spending time together but, other than that, there were no requirements. Cas loved both the sublime and the mundane with equal passion. Dean had seen him look at a mini golf course with the same expression of awe he’d had when he looked at the Grand Canyon. They had taken a trip to the famous gorge last year and Cas had been delighted. He stood staring at it for a good half hour before turning to Dean and saying simply, ‘It’s so big, grand indeed,’ and then suggested they get on with their hike. A month later, Dean had taken him to Tee-rific Mini Golf a few towns over. Cas stopped in front of the windmill obstacle and marvelled at it until the people behind them got impatient. ‘It’s so tiny and yet the sails really turn, ingenious,’ he said, smiling at Dean before hitting his ball through those spinning sails and getting a hole in one. 

They didn’t have time at the moment for a proper road trip. When they next had a vacation, Dean thought he would take Cas to see the Niagara Falls. He’d like that. He could imagine Cas watching the falls with solemn appreciation and summing them up with an understated, ‘So much water, impressive’. Now though, Sam was back at the bunker researching their next case. He could spare them for the weekend but that was it. Dean thought it would be a good opportunity to introduce Cas to America’s National Pastime. Sometimes doing something special for Cas was about doing the most ordinary thing he could think of. That was how they found themselves in Baby driving east up Route 24. 

“Where are we going?” Cas asked. 

Dean turned Travelling Riverside Blues down a few notches before saying, “I’m taking you to see the Wildcats.” 

“I don’t understand. I thought you said I was a wildcat? Who are we going to see?” 

“Different kind of wildcat, sweetheart,” Dean said, flashing him a grin. “They’re a baseball team. We’ll be at the stadium in a couple of hours.” 

“A couple of hours?” he said, looking a little put out. Cas the contradiction. Normally, had the patience to sit or stand still for hours. Who knew, maybe he’d even stood still for years when he’d been an angel stationed on earth watching over humanity. Dean wouldn’t put it past him. But sometimes he was like a little kid on a road trip, getting all cranky about being stuck in the car. Dean didn’t think they had any place better to be than in Baby listening to Zep, but he understood that regular human travel might seem slow to an angel who could teleport anywhere in an instant. 

“C’mon, two hours is nothing. Sammy and I once drove two days for a Jayhawks game.” 

“Well, that does put it in perspective,” Cas said. He didn’t sound entirely convinced, but he smiled when Dean reached out to put a hand on his knee. 

Dean stopped at the next Gas-N-Sip for road food. He got some chilli lime jerky to snack on and Cas chewed slowly on a single piece for the rest of the journey. Food still tasted mostly of molecules to him but he’d come to appreciate the nuances more. And he liked the ritual of sharing food with those close to him. 

They arrived at the stadium in good time, so Dean took a moment to buy Cas a baseball cap and one of those silly foam fingers. He brushed Cas’s hair back and plunked the cap on his head, then put the foam finger on him. Once Cas was kitted out, Dean led him to their seats and settled in. 

When the teams came out onto the field, Cas turned to him curiously and asked, “Dean, are we here because the players wear tight pants?” 

Okay, historically, that might be part of the reason Dean watched baseball but “We’re just here because I thought you’d enjoy it,” he told Cas honestly. Anyway, the pants weren’t that figure-hugging, not many players still wore those tight, old-fashioned breeches, more’s the pity. 

Once play began, Cas didn’t say anything or look away from the field for a long time. Dean found himself ignoring the action in favour of feasting his eyes on his husband. Cas was a riot of cheerful colour today. He’d left off his trench coat in favour of a dark pink hoodie, which he had declared was his ‘weekend wear’ when Dean had mentioned it earlier. He wondered if Cas had been watching Tan France on Queer Eye talking about the difference between casual and business attire again. The hoodie went nicely with his purple baseball cap and blue foam finger. Cas looking freaking adorable. Come Monday, Dean was sure he’d be back in his old trench, for now though, it was wonderful to see Cas looking this relaxed. They were off duty for the weekend and they got to be just 2 regular guys at a baseball game. Well, one guy, one multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent crammed inside a guy, whatever. They sat like that, Cas watching the game, Dean watching Cas, until a hotdog seller came through their section of the stands. 

“Let's get you a hotdog,” Dean said. 

"Why?” 

“It’s part of the experience,” Dean told him, so Cas accepted the hotdog and nibbled on it dutifully. 

Dean took a big bite of his own dog. 

“You know you can take the finger off,” he said, bumping Cas’s shoulder with his own. Dean had only really bought the silly thing as a joke but Cas seemed to be treating it very seriously. He had switched the finger over to his left hand while he ate his hotdog but still had the foam digit pointing out towards the field insistently. 

“The team are working very hard. They deserve to know I support them,” Cas said as he watched the game earnestly. 

Dean adored the look of intense concentration on his face, the quiet satisfaction he showed when he figured out the rules of the game and the little nod of approval he gave when one of the players made a home run. His heart swelled with love until it was almost painful, or maybe that was just heartburn from the hotdog. He looked at Cas, no, it was definitely an inordinate amount of love surging through him. This man. This man meant so much to him that he didn’t know where to put all of these feelings. 

“You are so beautiful,” he told Cas, cupping one cheek with his hand and leaning in to kiss the other. 

He had a brief flashback to saying the same thing to Cas when he didn’t remember who he was, when Cas was just some hot guy he wanted to fuck. It was different now. His admiration wasn’t just superficial. He appreciated all the dimensions of Cas. The wisdom and naivety, the solemnity and joy, the never-ending love, the fierce determination to help people, to do good in this world, the laughter that was all the more special for its rarity, the jokes that were rarer still, the patience, the kindness, the closeness he shared only with Dean, his wild passion that was reserved for him alone. And he was hot, hot didn’t hurt either. But, really, he’d take Cas in any vessel. Or he’d take him without a vessel and just damn well figure out how to be married to Cas in his true form, if that was how he chose to manifest. He’d take wings and a being the size of the Chrysler building made of unfathomable energy as long as Cas was his. 

Cas smiled at him and then went back to watching the players with a thoughtful squint. Dean moved closer and sat wedged against him, shoulder to shoulder with Cas’s warmth spilling over into him, for the rest of the game. He shot Cas glances every so often to see his reaction if something interesting happened on the field. But mostly, he just sat and watched the game and appreciated having a normal day with an extraordinary husband. 

“This was very interesting. Thank you for today,” Cas said as they walked away from the stadium. 

“Day’s not over yet. We still gotta do the post-game beers. There’s a place a few blocks away I used to go to, let's head there.” 

He grabbed Cas’s hand and pulled him in the direction of the bar. Dean wasn’t normally much one for holding hands. He wasn’t sure if that was because he wasn’t into casual PDA, apart from the occasional kiss when he just couldn’t help himself, or when he was drunk, which amounted to the same thing really. Or perhaps, after years of hunting, it was natural circumspection that made him want to keep his hands free. Today though, he was feeling warm and relaxed and he wanted to be close to Cas. He wove his fingers through his husband’s and they walked hand in hand for two peaceful blocks. 

“Hey, watch it, you idiots,” yelled a red-faced guy as he came round the corner and barrelled right into them. 

“Sorry, buddy, didn’t see you there,” Dean said calmly. He was a grown up. He was capable of trying to de-escalate things instead of rising to the challenge in the other guy’s voice. This was just some drunk dumbass looking for a fight and Dean didn’t have to oblige. 

The guy looked at their joined hands and sneered, “Can’t even walk straight, huh?” 

Annnnnd there went Dean’s willingness to talk to the guy politely. 

“Excuse me?” he asked in a dangerously low tone and let go of Cas’s hand. 

“Dean, leave it,” Cas said. 

“Yeah, better listen to your _boyfriend!”_ the guy spat. 

Dean laughed suddenly at the absurdity. 

“You do realise that calling him my boyfriend really isn’t an insult when we’re clearly together? I know we’re in a relationship. I'm not going to be offended if someone points that out to me.” 

“Well, it’s a little offensive since we’re married. ‘Boyfriend’ suggests a less serious commitment,” Cas said to Dean before turning to the drunk guy. “Was that your intention, to insult us by trivialising our relationship?” 

The guy’s alcohol-soaked brain clearly couldn’t follow Cas’s logic. He opened and closed his mouth a few times uncertainly before focusing on Cas. 

“You’re fucking crazy, you damn faggot.” 

Dean resisted the urge to yell, ‘Hey, that’s my husband you’re talking to, watch it!’ but only barely. He was trying to remain calm but part of him wanted to square up to the guy like he was a teenager taking on the school bully, trying to impress the classmate he wanted to go steady with. Clearly, he’d watched Back to the Future one too many times as a kid and that scene with George McFly punching Biff had had an effect on him, not least because he’d had a crush on Crispin Glover. He knew Cas was perfectly capable of taking care of himself but he couldn’t help shifting in front of him slightly anyway. He took a deep breath and gave diplomacy another try. 

“Buddy, you are messing with the wrong fags. You should walk away.” 

Undeterred, the drunk guy took a clumsy swing at Dean which he easily dodged. Dean stepped back instead of forward but he couldn’t help clenching his fists, unsure if it was in anger or preparation for a swing of his own. Cas put a hand on his shoulder. It was a light touch, meant to comfort not restrain. Dean could restrain himself. There’d been a time when that wouldn’t have been true, but he had actually matured, as unconvinced as Sammy was of that fact. He probably would have hit the intolerant asshole in his younger days, especially if he was with a guy he thought might enjoy having his honour defended. While punching him would be satisfying, it wouldn’t be a fair fight. He was a hunter, it was never a fair fight unless the homophobe happened to be a Navy SEAL. Besides, he didn’t want to end a nice day with his husband by getting into a brawl. He wasn’t sure if he was going to have a choice though because the other man took a threatening, if wobbly, step towards them. Cas reached out and touched the guy’s forehead, causing him to fall back and look dazed. Dean watched bemused as the man wandered away. 

“What did you do?” he asked. 

“Made it so that he’ll understand,” Cas said cryptically. 

“Understand what?” 

“What it’s like to be harassed because of your sexuality.” 

“Wait, Cas, did you make him gay? You can’t just make someone gay! 

“Can’t I?” Cas asked, raising an eyebrow at Dean and giving him a smug look. Dean grinned at him because Cas being smug was oddly charming. He wasn’t sure if Cas was so pleased with himself because he’d turned a homophobe gay or made a joke about turning Dean gay. Cas was always rather proud of himself when he made a joke. 

“Hate to remind you, sweetheart, but you’re not the first guy I’ve fucked,” Dean teased. 

“No, but I’m the first one you’ve loved.” 

Dean closed the distance between them and took Cas’s face in his hands. 

“Man or woman, it doesn’t matter. I have never loved anyone the way that I love you,” he told his husband seriously. 

Dean had loved Lisa, he really had, but that was different. The man he was when he was with Lisa was at most half of himself. He could be his whole self with Cas, love with his whole self and have someone who could love his whole self in return. The love he shared with Cas was orders of magnitude above anything he’d had with anyone else. He brushed his lips across Cas’s in a tender caress before drawing back. 

“So, did you really make him gay?” he asked, looking in the direction the bigot had gone. 

“No, that would be wrong.” He paused. “Perhaps rather satisfying but still wrong. I merely made it so he will have a very vivid dream tonight about being attacked for who he loves. He will feel the unfairness of it, see the stupidity of hating where other people love. Hopefully the experience will teach him something about empathy.” 

“Hmmm, I still kinda would have liked to punch him, but not bad.” He took Cas’s hand again. “So how about that drink?” 

The bar was busy but not so crowded that they couldn’t get a table. They sat across from each other on tall stools with a small wooden table between them. Cas’s mostly full beer and Dean’s empty one sat on the scuffed table next to Cas’s baseball merch. He’d removed his baseball cap when they arrived, which left his hair slightly squashed in a way that made Dean want to run his hands through it to return it to its usual coif. The foam finger had come off too. ‘There’s no one from the team here to see me supporting them,’ Cas had explained. Rock played on the jukebox at just the right volume to be able to enjoy the music while still being able to hold a conversation. 

Dean had only meant for them to have a drink at the bar when he suggested it. But Cas looked so damn cute. All Dean wanted to do was drag him into a dark corner and have his way with him. He knew he shouldn’t. They had a nice, comfortable hotel room to go to after the bar. Dean hadn’t felt like driving back the same night, so he’d found someplace close online. Well, technically, Sam had found it for him because Sam was a good brother like that. The hotel was nicer than the usual no-tell motels they stayed at on the road. It was the sort of joint that put mints on the pillows instead of somewhere that probably didn’t even put clean cases on the pillows. The problem was that the hotel suddenly seemed so far away. Dean wasn’t 22 anymore. He was probably too old to be doing this, but, damn, he needed to get his mouth on this man. _Eh, what the hell._

He leant over and said quietly, “Come to the bathroom, Cas.” 

“You know I don’t urinate.” 

“Not what we’re going for, babe,” Dean said chuckling. 

Cas looked confused but he followed Dean when he rose from the table. He always followed Dean. A bar bathroom was the least of the places he was willing to go for him. 

Dean steered him into a stall with a hand on his back. He locked the door behind them and shoved Cas up against the wall to kiss him hungrily. Cas, who apparently hadn’t figured out what they were there for yet, took a moment to respond. But he was happy to follow Dean’s lead in this too. He put his arms around Dean and pulled him closer. 

Dean broke the kiss for a moment to say, “You are just so...” Apparently at a loss for words to finish that sentence, he nuzzled into Cas’s neck. “I want you so badly,” he breathed into the sensitive skin there. “I love you so much,” he whispered against his throat between sucking and licking. After a few minutes of increasingly feverish kisses, Dean drew back and tried to slow down enough to think. 

Sometimes Dean worried he was dragging Cas down to his level. He knew that Cas wanted to be treated like a regular person, that it meant a lot to him to be here on earth and live like a human. Cas loved mankind and he felt privileged to enjoy the heights of what humanity had to offer: love, family, friendship, art, kindness, ingenuity, a depth of emotion angels couldn’t normally feel and so much more. But Cas was also interested in experiencing the more base aspects of what being human meant. They’d never had sex in a bar bathroom before and Dean had wanted to give him new experiences. And this was what humans did, fucked in stupid places because they were horny and impatient. 

His hands went to the button on Cas’s jeans but didn’t try to undo it. Hesitantly, Dean asked, “Is this okay? I know it’s not exactly classy.” He bit his lip, looking like he was reconsidering. "You deserve better...” 

“Dean, when will you realise, there is no ‘better’? Being with you is perfect. I love you and I want you as much as you want me.” He pressed his growing hardness against Dean in case his body was more persuasive than his words. "You worry too much, my love,” Cas told him gently, carding his fingers through his hair. 

Dean knelt at his husband’s feet and ran his hands up his thighs before going for his fly again. He shoved his boxers down slightly and drew out Cas’s hard cock. Holding the base, he licked him lovingly. Who’s to say that a quick and dirty blowjob in a bar bathroom can’t also be an act of love? A quick act of love admittedly. If they were back home, he’d take his time, but, right now, he just wanted to make Cas come as fast as he could. Still, he gave the head a few slow, teasing licks before taking it in his mouth and beginning to work in earnest. If there was one job that Dean truly applied himself to, it was a blowjob. He loved having his mouth on Cas. Doing this made Dean so fucking hard. He was torn between the urge to touch himself and the need to focus entirely on Cas, on his body, on his pleasure. Concentrating on Cas won out, as it usually did. So, he put his free hand on Cas’s hip instead of palming his own dick. He began working his fist together with his mouth, licking and sucking for all he was worth. Cas’s gasps filled the stall and spurred him on. He sucked hard in a way he knew was on the edge of too much but that Cas loved. Removing his hand, he swallowed Cas as far as he could until the head of his cock was butting up against the back of his throat. Cas’s hands were in his hair again, grabbing and pulling. The noises he was making were becoming more desperate, Dean’s name interspersed with incoherent moans. Cas’s hips surged forward. Come poured into Dean’s mouth and he swallowed it down. 

“Thank you,” Cas murmured. His hands in Dean’s hair were soft again, fingers stroking affectionately. 

“My pleasure,” he said, standing up. 

Dean kissed Cas after he rose. It was just meant to be a quick peck on the cheek but Cas grabbed him and licked deep inside his mouth. He knew Cas could taste his own come and there was something about that he loved. Getting Cas a little dirty made him seem more touchable, like he wasn’t so far above Dean that it scared him sometimes. When the kiss broke, Cas made a move as if to kneel himself. Dean wasn’t usually one to discourage Cas from any indecent acts he was willing to engage in, but there had to be a limit, didn’t there? 

“No, this is fine,” Dean told Cas, resting his head on his shoulder as he thrust against his hip. 

Cas didn’t need to do a whole lot to get him off. It was enough for him just to stand there. Standing was good because this was supposed to be for Cas and Dean didn’t think that getting the angel to blow him in a skeezy bar bathroom was something he was doing for Cas’s sake. The idea seemed blasphemous somehow, or, at the very least, obscene. Of course, that kind of turned him on more. Normally, he’d be all over Cas and blasphemous acts. He really did love getting Cas all filthy. Lately, though, he was feeling protective. The idea of leading Cas astray scared him. What if he went too far, did something that crossed the line from fun debauchery to flat out degrading? There was something about Cas that was so good and so pure. He didn’t want to soil that. He didn't want to hurt Cas again. 

Dean thrust against him harder. He pushed their lower bodies closer but moved his head back slightly to look at Cas. He found Cas already watching him, held tilted, thoughtful expression on his face. Dean could see the gears turning in his mind and he saw when they came to a halt as Cas worked things out. 

“Dean,” Cas said gently, fingers skimming across his cheekbone. “What happened wasn’t your fault. If you need forgiveness, I forgive you. But you have to stop tiptoeing around me. I’m fine.” 

“I’m sorry. I just...” 

“Worry,” Cas finished. “More than you need to.” He pressed his lips to Dean’s softly. 

Dean leant heavily into his embrace. He made a conscious effort to let go of his guilt and fear, which left him feeling hollowed out and little weak kneed. Cas switched their positions so that Dean was the one against the wall, supported by the solid surface. He was still looking at Dean perceptively. Cas knew him too well. He knew what he really wanted and why he was acting like he didn’t want it. 

“I’m going to suck your cock now,” Cas told him in a tone that brooked no argument. 

He moved again and this time Dean let him go to his knees. He was only human after all. Besides, while it was easy to stop Cas from doing something he didn’t want, it was a lot harder to stop Cas from doing something he knew Dean did want. He was already shaking slightly by the time Cas undid his jeans. He wouldn’t last long, the view of Cas on his knees alone left him breathless. And Cas always gave the most intense head. Either, he had his eyes shut tight in concentration, like fellatio required the same brain power as complicated geometry equations and he had to calculate the angle of the next lick just right. Or, he was looking up at Dean intently. Dean had been known to do the sexy eye contact thing while giving head too, maybe throw in a flirty we’re-both-having-fun-here wink. But Cas would look up at him fiercely like he was gazing right into his soul, like he could take that soul into his own, the way he took Dean’s body into his own. He was gazing up at him now, eyes full of love and lust. That look on his face and the sight of his lips wrapped around Dean’s girth was too much. Dean came with a feeling of deep catharsis, sighing as he emptied himself inside Cas. 

Cas flowed to his feet and smiled at Dean. He had a drop of come hugging his full lower lip. Dean reached up to brush it away with his thumb. Cas caught his hand before he could wipe it off on his jeans as he’d intended. Instead, Cas leant in to lick the come from Dean’s thumb. He moaned blissfully like it tasted of goddamn honey and sunshine or something. Dean wondered if that was what spunk tasted like to angels and they didn’t get the same salty stuff everyone else was stuck with. Maybe it was just what Dean tasted like to Cas. Or he tasted like molecules but Cas liked Dean’s molecules best. Either way, it warmed something inside him. Dean kissed him and tasted himself. He definitely didn’t taste like honey. But that was fine because Cas was still sunshine, bright and pure, warm and nourishing, the wellspring that made life itself possible. 

Dean looked at him curiously and said, “Don’t get me wrong, it’s hot, but why do you always act like my come is fucking delicious?” 

“It tastes like love,” Cas told him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave kudos if you liked it because I crave your validation the way Dean craves his father's approval! I'd absolutely love to hear from you if you want to leave a comment too :)


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